LEONE or the buffet of the Gare de Lyon by Régine Deforges
Translated by Maxim Jakubowski
IT ALL BEGAN in the Train Bleu, the restaurant of the Gare de Lyon.
The Christmas holidays had just begun. The railway station was surrounded by busy crowds, rushing, laden with cases, bags and skis. Leone, having delivered her mother and children, was settling up with the grumpy cab driver moaning about the traffic jams he’d just driven through.
“And they still complain about the price of petrol, even at ten francs per litre, shouldn’t be allowed to drive damn cars… Christ, retirement won’t ever come too early.”
Leone gave him a good tip, to calm him down and watched a faint smile transform his weary face.
“That’s very kind of you, madam. Have a nice journey.”
Her mother had managed to find a porter, the two kids were waiting quietly, pacified by the promise of dinner in the restaurant before they boarded the sleeping car. Their behaviour was particularly impressive seeing they were so excited by the coming disruption to their everyday life.
They followed the porter to the lift that went up to the restaurant. Passing under the great clock, her son remembered an episode from Tardi’s ADELE BLANSEC that had greatly impressed him. The children were agog at the baroque decor of the place. The abundance of gold, the walls and ceilings so full of colourful paintings, the warm nudes, the heavy silver trolleys laden with roasts, and in particular those bearing an impressive stack of patisseries which made their mouths water.
The maitre d’ found them a comfortable corner and brought the menus. Sophie, full of the assurance of her lone five years, declared peremptorily that she would not have soup but snails.
“That’s very heavy for an evening meal,” the grandmother said.
“It doesn’t matter, mother,” Leone said. “It’s the holidays.”
A grateful Sophie winked at her mum. Jacques, older, chose sausage and andouillette “with really a lot of chips” he added. Leone and her mother, less ambitiously, selected a consomme and grilled meat with a decent Bordeaux wine.
Once they had ordered, and the wine was promptly delivered to the table as requested, Leone chose to relax and lit up a cigarette while slowly sipping a glass of wine.
Two young men, in their early thirties, looking merry, both rather handsome and weighed down by luggage, came to sit across from them, picked up their menu and ordered. Then, like Leone, they each lit up a cigarette and looked around them. They noticed her simultaneously and smiled pleasingly, impressed by the spectacle of the unknown woman. Leone demurely smiled back. She knew she was pretty, draped in the soft, black wool outfit that showed off her pale complexion and her ash blonde hair. She looked away but still felt the men’s gaze on her. Her son also noticed their interest and, with a distinct sense of ownership, remarked:
“Why are those two guys looking at you like that?”
“It’s because they think mummy is very pretty,” said Sophie, cuddling up to her mother, to demonstrate that Leone was hers and hers alone. Which provoked Jacques to stand up and come over to kiss his mother. She held them both tight against her, laughing, pleased with the proximity of their warm young bodies.
“Those are indeed very lucky kids,” one of the men whispered rather loudly.
It was trite, but the sound of his voice was pleasing to Leone.
The waiters brought the dishes. Jacques sat down again and laid siege to his sausage with gluttony, while Sophie struggled with the snail tongs. For a few moments, they ate in silence.
From time to time, Leone would look up and across to the nearby table. On each occasion, she would catch the eyes of one or the other of the friends. Soon, she felt herself become increasingly uneasy. “What a pity I’m not alone… they’re both rather handsome. I’d find it difficult to choose between them… but, why choose?… Oh, what a fool I am, anyway, they’ll soon be leaving… I’d like to leave, too… How it would be nice to be alone in Paris for a few days… Strange how these men attract me… It’s reciprocal, they both like me too… what should I do?… I’d like to see them again… know where they live… I just can’t speak to them, not in front of mother and the children… Oh, how life can be awkward!”
She pulled out a cigarette from the pack. A flame was struck. One of the men was offering it to her. She lit up her cigarette and thanked him with a nod.
The plates were cleared away and the meat was brought on. Increasingly disturbed, she was rather tersely answering the children’s questions. Sophie pulled her by the sleeve.
“You’re not even listening to me. What are you thinking of?”
Leone kissed the child.
“I was thinking how bored I will be without you around.”
She tried to feign interest in her own mother’s discourse: she was worried how her daughter would spend the holidays. Heard Jacques asking whether he would be having the same instructor as the previous year, and if he could still go to the movies in the afternoon.
Once again, her eyes met the gaze of the two men. This time, she didn’t break the contact. She could read their desire, it was the same as hers, brutal and transparent. She felt her face go all red and looked away. There was something obsessive about their presence, her heartbeat quickened, her hands were becoming clammy, the bottom half of her body turning to lead. Shards of lucidity kept on telling her she was mad, ill, a sexual pervert. She took another cigarette and broke three matches in a row in a futile attempt to light it. The man who had offered her the flame earlier stood up, his light shivering slightly as he approached it. Leone took hold of the young man’s hand to bring it to the level of her cigarette. This brief contact caused her turmoil. The lighter’s flame went out under her breath.
“I’m sorry,” she said, looking up.
Her emotion reached its pinnacle as she witnessed the pale and stirring face of the man. He switched the lighter back on. Leone breathed the smoke in deeply with great relief.
“Thank you.”
He returned to his seat, said a few words to his friend who was smiling back at him. The arrival of the dessert trolley was a welcome diversion. The children wanted a taste of each single one: the chocolate mousse, the rum baba, the egg cream, the raspberry pie, the blackcurrant sorbet, the chocolate cake, the iced meringues, the tarte tatin, their eyes were all over the place. The two men chose their desserts under the admiring gaze of the kids. Leone took only a coffee, which provoked some witty remarks among the men about how women knew to protect their waistline. Even though it was all rather banal, Leone laughed along with them, pleased by this fortuitous contact which would very soon come to an end on the station platform.
The time was nearing, Leone requested the bill and a porter. They offered to carry her luggage, but gave up smiling when they saw how many she had.
“Where are you going?” one of them asked.
“Morzine,” Sophie said.
“What a coincidence, so are we,” they said together in such harmony that all three burst out laughing.
Her mother watched Leone with disapproval while the children looked jealous. They reached their sleeping car. The ticket controller opened the door connecting the children and the grandmother’s cabin. They moved and jumped between the compartments with noisy glee. Leone walked out into the corridor, and noticed the two men coming towards her from the other end of the car. The same emotion that had overcome her in the restaurant returned, only more violent now. She had to admit to herself that she wanted both of them together, that their joint desire was inflaming hers. “I’m a complete freak,” she thought. A good thing matters would go no further: them to Morzine or wherever, she in Paris. Sadness suddenly swirled over her at the thought of being alone in Paris, in the grey, cold and muddy December Paris, while others left for the snow and holidays, maybe even some sun.